


The Wild Boys

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blood, F/M, Frottage, bionic arm fingering, sneaking suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: She is genuinely surprised to feel him hard against her crotch. He lost a lot of blood and he’s not a teenager anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GRAYXOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GRAYXOF/gifts).



“Quiet,” rasps V.

Quiet grasps her rifle tighter.

“Quiet. Stand down. It’s over.”

She can’t. Her face burns under her markings and her brain is on fire like the outpost they just scraped out of, parasites screaming at her to _kill maim destroy protect kill kill kill._

V goes to disarm her. He does not grip her rifle but her wrist, twisting it effortlessly. Why leverage on an unyielding piece of metal when he knows all the points a human body can give in to pressure.

His metal palm burns, even through her glove. It smells singed, circuits overheated and smoke seeping through the joints.

She resists. He disarms her anyway.

If she could breathe she’d be panting, her mind white noise and her ears still ringing from the grenade that went off a foot from her face before she could dematerialize completely.

With a ragged growl she kicks his legs out and straddles him, teeth clenched, face burning, everything is _burning-_

He does not let her pin him down, even if he’s hurt and much weaker than usual, blood soaking his hair and trailing from the base of his horn. He wraps her in his arms and squeezes her down into his chest, her hands trapped between their bodies. It’s like a fucking beartrap, and no matter how much she struggles, he does not let go.

She comes down slowly, the parasites leaving scorch marks on her vision and her muscles aching with adrenaline. Now she can feel the bullet rattling into her left lung that would be slowly killing her if she were still using her lungs. There’s shards of bone and teeth embedded in her knee, from when she kneed a Soviet soldier’s face into a paste. Shrapnel is already being pushed out of her face and neck, and it hurts like crazy.

“Are you done?” rumbles V under her as she stops struggling, his hold relaxing. His breath is whistling a little. She can feel his broken rib against her forearm, twisting and crunching under his flesh.

“Hm.”

V’s flesh hand touches her hair gently, petting her like he pets DD when he’s spooked by something. He trails blood across her scalp when his fingers catch in the broken glass and metal sticking out of her skull.

She rests her head on his chest, wishing she could take a deep breath, wishing her skin could stop tasting the blood and mud caked on his suit.

“You hurt?”

She shakes her head. Pats his chest where his rib is broken.

“I know. I’ll be fine.” He sighs shallowly. “I already called Pequod. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Hm.”

He keeps petting her hair and now all her adrenaline is fizzing out in her lower body, pooling in her gut, making her legs tremble. Her tights are ripped beyond repair, they’re just shreds of nylon rolled uncomfortably against her stomach and knees. She’s touching his slippery, sticky sneaking suit with too much of her bare skin.

She is genuinely surprised to feel him hard against her crotch. He lost a lot of blood and he’s not a teenager anymore.

Yet now they are both thrumming, surging together like recruits after their first kill. V’s hand is heavy on the back of her head. His mouth soft but his tongue demanding and rough, just like she is as she grinds against his cock through the state of the art kevlar and polyethylene. The cracked joints of his bionic hand pinch her skin as he grabs her ass, pushing under her bikini bottoms.

She bites his bottom lip, whines into his mouth as two still burning hot fingers find their way into her. She pushes harder against him, feeling him throb, feeling the suit slide and slip against his cock, slick from the inside with sweat and precome.

He grunts breathlessly, arching to thrust against her, one of the straps of his vest digging into her flesh, the ribbing of the front of the suit pulling at her clit almost painfully.

Even through all the layers of cutting-edge membranes, she can feel V come, throbbing, filling the front of the suit with thick, warm spurts. Her skin _hungers_ to taste it, a craving so strong she clenches around his metal fingers and comes as well with a strangled cry.

He passes out not too long after, nose buried in her singed hair, humid breath making her skin tingle.

Pequod helps her upturn him into the ACC without questioning it, or her still lopsided panties. She knows he won’t tattle her out to Miller if, after she’s done peeling the suit from his limp body, she curls up on the floor and takes a nap under his arm.

It’s been a long day, and they’re both bloody, sweaty and disgusting. They both deserve some rest. With Venom’s warm heavy body enveloping her and the hum of the chopper under her, Quiet sleeps, and allows herself to feel a little human.


End file.
